To Tame a Wild Lady

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “Eighteen.”

  She was just behind him now. Even if she hadn’t heard where that last bid had come from, she recognized the particular breadth of back, the masked force of all that muscle. The way the fabric of his topcoat strained across his shoulders only emphasized his powerful build.

  Particularly fine fabric at that, if not tailored to a man of his size. And where had he come by such garments?

  “Nineteen fifty.”

  “Two thousand.”

  For that matter, Marquess of Wyvern or no, where had he come by such blunt? If, by some impossible set of circumstances he was bidding with his own money…No, this had to stop.

  She edged into the space beside him. “You can stop driving up the price. I’m perfectly happy to sell for the current amount.”

  Ecstatic, in fact. She’d hoped for at least a thousand pounds. She’d never dreamed of two.

  At the sound of her voice, he went rigid, completely still as if he’d suddenly turned to stone. Cold, hard granite. “I’ll be damned if I let Pendleton win.”

  “Two thousand once!”

  “Twenty fifty!” Pendleton’s voice came from a different point on the ring. He, too, was coming nearer.

  “You don’t have to outbid him,” Caro urged. “I don’t care if he wins.”

  “Twenty-one,” Adrian called calmly into the silence. “I do.”

  “What will Danvers say when he discovers you’ve bought an overpriced hunting mare with estate funds?”

  “Twenty-one once!”

  Adrian pivoted then, pinning her to the spot with a glacier-blue glare that made the hairs on her nape stand on end. “I’m not bidding with estate funds.”

  “Twenty-one twice!”

  One winter, Snowley had slipped a large chuck of ice down her back. The cold she experienced now under a warm early September sun was just as sudden and shocking. “Oh, good Lord. You’re going to ruin everything.”

  Utter silence assailed her ears. God, where was Pendleton and why wasn’t he upping the bid? The air about them thickened like an impending summer storm until Caro heard the rush of blood through her veins. No one moved.

  And then: “Sold!”

  A roar erupted from the crowd, but Caro barely heeded it. Her knees buckled. That single word had completely dashed her final hope. “How…” She swallowed. “How could you have let the bidding go so high when—”

  “When I couldn’t possibly possess the sort of blunt to buy such a regal mount?” he spat. “Is that it?”

  His sudden burst of anger buoyed her up, and she straightened her spine. “If I’d realized Wyvern paid such good wages, I’d have questioned why you came to Sherrington in the first place.”

  “As a matter of fact, the estate doesn’t pay enough to cover this particular bill. Thankfully, I only need enough to cover the commission, as I’d been planning to restore Boudicca to her rightful owner.”

  Relief ought to have coursed through her, but instead she felt only hurt at having him refer to her so impersonally. He’d cut straight through her skin and opened a vein. But she didn’t get a chance to reply, for a new voice intruded on their conversation.

  “What did you just say?” Pendleton shoved past a pair of onlookers.

  Adrian rolled his shoulders. Somehow the action made him appear taller. “I said I’d intended to return Boudicca to her rightful owner.”

  The surrounding crowd retreated, clearing a circle around them.

  Pendleton swept an icy stare over Caro from head to foot, taking in her appearance. She’d dressed in breeches for this escapade. “You planned it all, didn’t you?” He fisted his hands in the lapels of her rough jacket and hauled her off her feet. “Didn’t you?”

  “No—”

  “Release her,” Adrian roared.

  In the next moment, Caro’s backside hit the ground, knocking a rush of air from her lungs. Sharp stones dug into her hands as she scrabbled backward, crabwise. Just in time. Adrian jumped in front of her, his bulk blocking her view.

  “You want to settle this?” He planted his palms on Pendleton’s chest and thrust him back. “You do it with me.”

  Pendleton straightened and pulled at the ends of his sleeves. “I can do that.” He raised his fists, one held to guard his face, the other poised to strike. “We’ll settle it like men.”

  Keeping his opponent fixed in the beam of his glare, Adrian shrugged out of his topcoat. It landed on the dusty pavement at Caro’s feet. She plucked it from the ground before scooting back.

  Pendleton pushed himself onto his toes, his weight shifting. “Come on, then.”

  Adrian stood immovable as a mountain. Then his laughter rang out over the square. “Is that how you nobs fight?”

  With a snarl, Pendleton lunged, but Adrian slipped sideways out of reach, pivoting, keeping his enemy in front of him. They circled. Pendleton threw a punch. Caro cried as his fist sailed within inches of Adrian’s jaw. From the surrounding crowd came a low buzz that sounded suspiciously like wagers being laid.

  “You’ll let me know when you’re finished playing,” Adrian said. He might as well have been discussing crop yields.

  “You’ll let me know when you’re ready to fight properly,” Pendleton shot back.

  Once again, he surged. His guard dropped.

  Quick as a cat, Adrian unleashed a lethal blow. The full force of his weight smashed his fist into Pendleton’s nose. Bone cracked; blood sprayed in an arc. Pendleton dropped like a boulder and lay blinking and dazed in the middle of the pavement. His nose was shattered.

  Before anyone could even think of helping Pendleton up, Caro launched herself at Adrian. In spite of his earlier coldness, his arms closed about her for an all too brief embrace.

  “Dressed like that, you’re going to draw unwanted attention,” he muttered.

  Right. For all the onlookers knew, they were witnessing a stable lad and a gentleman behaving in the most unseemly fashion. She stepped back. “At any rate, I believe you need to see a man about a horse.”

  —

  He had to get her out of the street, away from public scrutiny. No one in York might recognize Lady Caroline as the daughter of a duke—no one other than Pendleton, and he could ruin her the moment he picked himself off the ground, if he chose. And he would choose. Already his eyelids were fluttering.

  Time to move.

  As soon as he completed the purchase of Boudicca, Adrian pulled Lady Caroline into the nearest public house and demanded a private room, along with ale and a meal.

  Lady Caroline stared, round-eyed, at the coin he pressed into the proprietor’s palm. The moment they were enclosed against the curious eyes of the common room, she pounced. “Where did you come by all this blunt?”

  He pushed aside a surge of disappointment that she hadn’t inquired after anything more personal. How have you been keeping? would have made for a more congenial beginning.

  He reached for a heel of deep brown bread, rustic fare, barely fit for the likes of Lady Caroline. “You have your questions, and I have mine. For every one I answer, I expect reciprocation.”

  She nodded and took a draft of ale, her grimace telling him all he needed to know of her preferences.

  He lifted his own tankard, and the brew sat bitter and heavy on his tongue. “Shall I order wine instead?”

  “Don’t start that. This will do nicely.” She cut herself a wedge of cheese. “Are you going to tell me where you got the funds? I assume they paid for the new clothes.”

  “The clothes are borrowed so I might look presentable before Wyvern’s solicitors. The funds come from my inheritance.”

  Her butter knife clattered into her plate. “Inheritance?”

  “From Wyvern. He could not leave me his estate, as you well know, but his money is not entailed.”

  “But—”

  He held up a hand. “My turn.” He contemplated her over a long swallow of ale. “What in the name of all that is holy are you doing in bloody York?”


  She picked up her knife and calmly scraped a golden swath of butter across her bread, as if every day she dressed as a stable boy, saddled her mare, and rode two hundred miles to an auction. “Selling my horse.”

  He thrust away the horrifying thoughts of everything that could have happened to her on the road. “Are you mad? Why York when you could have chosen Newmarket or, hell, even Tattersalls is closer.”

  “It’s my turn, but I’ll still tell you the answer. I chose York because it’s close to Wyvern Manor.”

  That called for a drink. He refilled his tankard and drained it on one go. “You had business? At Wyvern Manor?”

  “No, my business is with you.” She said that slowly, as though explaining to a child why the sky was blue. “And I expected to find you at Wyvern’s estate.”

  My business is with you. Damn his heart for leaping at those words, as dry and…well, businesslike as they were. How innocent and wide-eyed must he be to detect a hint of promise there. “But—”

  She imitated his earlier action, showing him her palm. “My turn. Why did you leave?”

  She voiced that simple question so quietly, he nearly missed the edge of emotion that underlay her words. And yet…Yet he could only bring himself to give the obvious answer. “His grace dismissed me.”

  To say more would have torn open a wound he’d vowed to stop examining, even though he’d ripped that scab off in his head for the past fourteen days, every bloody damned night as sleep evaded him.

  “You didn’t even protest.”

  The waver in her voice tugged at his heart. Soften, yield, it seemed to urge. “The duke was within his rights after what happened. We both know that. But there was a clear implication that he believes you led me to ruin you on purpose.”

  “Do you think so little of me?” She whispered her reply, but each syllable stabbed at him nonetheless.

  God only knew he didn’t want to think so little of her, but the duke’s take on Lady Caroline’s behavior had cast a harsh glare on every one of her actions, and that light was not favorable. Every time, she’d coaxed him, begged him, asked him for more—just like Lady Wyvern.

  “You have to admit the picture was not a pretty one, given my past. Your conduct mirrored the shining example of a certain marchioness.”

  Lady Caroline pushed back her chair, the legs scraping a loud protest across the floorboards. “My sisters were wrong. There’s no hope here.”

  Hope. The word hung in the air long after she pronounced it, daring him to latch onto it. “Hope of what? Tell me…” He curled his fingers about her wrist. “It’s my turn. Why did you come after me?”

  God help him, whatever her reason, he needed to hear it.

  “To learn the truth, but it’s clear now.”

  “The truth of what?”

  “Lizzie…” Lady Caroline stared at her forearm where his fingers circled, held her fast. “She came home. After you left. She and Pippa said I shouldn’t make assumptions as to how you felt, since you never told me. But…”

  The reason behind her hesitation was clear enough. He recognized it because he, too, felt the rawness of vulnerability. A declaration, once spoken, could not be taken back. But if she felt anything like he did, it meant he ought to grab on to hope and clutch it to his chest, and never let go.

  It also meant he was wrong about her. Completely and utterly. It meant he’d leapt to an unfortunate conclusion in the face of her father’s heat and anger.

  “What can a lady like you possibly hope from a man like me?” It wasn’t his turn, but he didn’t care. “What can I possibly offer you?”

  “The land. Freedom.” She blinked and stared at the ceiling. “Yourself. If I wanted a gentleman, I could have my pick. And every last one of them would lock me away and force me to comply with their expectations of what a lady is supposed to be. They would place me in a cage where I’d whither. You are the only man who sees me for who I am, and does not care that I don’t behave the way society wants me to.”

  Her speech urged him to pull her closer. Yes, he could offer her those things. He wanted to. So he tugged at her until she faced him. Tipping up her chin, he compelled her to meet his gaze.

  Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  “My education is lacking in certain aspects,” he said, well aware that an uneducated man would not choose such terms. “I’ve never learned the art of poetry.”

  “I don’t need poetry, but if you’ve something to say, please do so.”

  “I haven’t the right to say this to you.” He shifted his hand so it framed her jawline. “I’ve never encountered your spirit, your bravery, your boldness. I doubt I’ll ever meet your like again. And now that I hold it in my grasp”—he traced his thumb along the pink border where her lower lip edged her skin—“I never want to let it go. I never want to let you go. I want to keep you for myself. To love.”

  “Oh!” A tear brimmed over the cusp of her eyelid to leave behind a salty wake. Her fingers trembled as she reached to cover it. “That was beautiful. Worthy of a fine lady, as I am not.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, at the same time drawing her to his chest. She burrowed in, as if she was made for him.

  “You’re far too fine for the likes of me.” He kissed the end of her nose.

  “But now that you’ve made me such a pretty speech, I refuse to leave you.” She leaned in and brushed her lips across his. “I do not give a fig what anyone else thinks. If ever I pursued you, it was for love and only love.”

  His hand slipped into her hair, guiding her into a deeper kiss that promised all manner of wickedness. With lips and tongue he sought to steal her breath and send her blood racing, but all too soon he broke off. His forehead came to rest against hers.

  “What of your sisters? Lady Elizabeth is settled, but we cannot ruin Lady Philippa’s prospects.”

  “We have Pippa’s complete blessing.”

  “All right.” He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, everywhere he could reach. Possibilities whirled in his mind, nearly all of them involving a bed, but before that they’d one small detail to take care of. Caro was going to cause a scandal—a mighty one, but they could yet mitigate it. Somewhat. “All right. We’d best be on our way.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Scotland. Thank God you had the foresight to come to York, because we’re nearly there.”

  “Damnation.” Her smile made the back of his neck heat. “I was hoping you’d make good on your promise for riding lessons.”

  Chapter 29

  The prospect of riding lessons, along with the knowing curve to Caro’s lips, had Adrian fumbling in his pockets for coin. A little something for the landlord to secure their complete privacy for the next hour, at least. To make absolutely certain, Adrian wedged a chair beneath the door handle.

  Caro laughed, the sound throaty and sensual. Aware. “It looks as if Scotland can wait.”

  “I do believe it can.” He glanced about the space. The rough-hewn table and chairs were sturdy enough. Better yet, a banquette stretched along one wall. The worn red fabric covering it looked reasonably clean, though the luxury was certainly not up to the standards of Sherrington Manor. But then, Caro had spent the past sennights proving the trappings of wealth weren’t essential to her happiness. Thank God, because windfall or no, he’d never be able to shower her with luxury. “We’ll have to improvise. As soon as we’re married, we’ll get a chamber with a proper bed.”

  Her eyes glittered with a sparks of curiosity and mischief. “We’ll have to take full advantage.”

  He pushed aside the remains of their meal and grasped her waist, pulling her into him. “I intend to take full advantage right now.”

  Her fingers toyed with the swath of silk about his neck, teasing him with the notion that she would remove his clothes so they could trace their own sensual paths against his skin. “And just when do you intend to begin instructing me?”

  He dropped onto the banquette, pulling her after him
until she filled his lap, one knee on either side of his hips. Yes, this would do quite nicely, at least once he’d made short work of her breeches.

  She looked down at him with wide, hazel eyes, and he paused to enjoy the silken texture of her translucent skin, so at odds with her rough garments worthy of a stable boy. So at odds with him. But beyond all comprehension, she’d chosen this—chosen him—and he wasn’t about to let her go. Not now, not ever.

  He needed her again, all of her—her kisses, the salt of her skin, the sweet haven of her body taking him in, erasing everything but the two of them, joined, and the exquisite pleasure they created together. The mere thought sent his blood racing south, and a demanding ache settled in his groin.

  But he also wanted to savor that first taste of her in a fortnight, so he kept the contact gentle. Her lips molded to his, returning every caress with delicious response so he craved more. His hands slipped to her shoulders and along her spine until his fingers splayed across the firmness of her arse. So taut and perfect in his tightening grip.

  A searing bolt of lust surged to his cock, and his hips bucked of their own accord, grinding him into her heat. The tiniest of sighs passed from her mouth to his, while her lower body pressed back.

  Friction that led to release. She must yearn for it the same as he, the way her bum wriggled under his grip. The flames within roared to life. He took her lips once more in an all-consuming kiss as their hips ground against each other.

  Caro responded to every last demand his mouth made on hers with the sort of insistence that could only come from a woman of her standing. More. Here. Now. Her hands followed suit, insinuating themselves between their chests and sweeping upward to his shoulders.

  Breath ragged, she tore her mouth from his. “Your garments do not fit properly. I think you should remove them.”

  Gratefully, he let her slide his topcoat down his arms. “I’ll have to find a way to squeeze back into anything you take off.”

  She leaned in to kiss him full on the lips, the contact far too brief. “I prefer the view without a shirt.”

  “As do I, m’love, as do I.” Beneath his hands, her worsted coat slid the length of her long, athletic form. The irony of the situation was not lost on him—the elegant duke’s daughter clad in the rough garments of a stable lad, while he, the bastard son of a lowly tenant, wore a gentleman’s togs.